Random scribblings -- poems, song lyrics, novel excerpts, maybe a short story a time or two, possibly even a drawing once in a while, an occasional rant -- from the last 25 years or so, with no claim made for their merit or value, simply a demonstration of their existence.

Our exercise for group today, announced the
acting master
Is to portray the henhouse
Upon learning that armageddon is nigh
The orders have been given, the
overrides countermanded
The missiles are flying
The holocaust is come
So the feathers flew as the actors flurried
from their roosts
Clucked about excitedly, pecked each
other to shreds
Hailed Chicken Little as a prophet, and
wished they'd listened
Only Brando remained motionless, sitting
stock still,saying nothing
Concentrating on the task of hatching eggs
"What the fuck do chickens know about
nuclear war?" reasoned he

The boots the men work in rest on the porch
The light on the ambulance sheds sparks like a torch
I watch from a step because no one waits for me
Timothy Clugan's been in bed twenty-two years,
And then he fell
But it's his wife they carry away
John Dolan's been dead now twenty-two years.
I lived to tell
Without determining to stayIn twice as many almost I understood last
Why people pray
The wind knocked wrens from the branches
This morning yesterday